Dramatic Romances Part 18

The bridesmaids' prattle around her ceased; She leaned forth, one on either hand; They saw how the blush of the bride increased--

They felt by its beats her heart expand-- 10 As one at each ear and both in a breath Whispered, "The Great-Duke Ferdinand."

That self-same instant, underneath, The Duke rode past in his idle way, Empty and fine like a swordless sheath.

Gay he rode, with a friend as gay, Till he threw his head back--"Who is she?"

"A bride the Riccardi brings home to-day."

Hair in heaps lay heavily Over a pale brow spirit-pure-- 20 Carved like the heart of a coal-black tree,

Crisped like a war-steed's encolure-- And vainly sought to dissemble her eyes Of the blackest black our eyes endure.

And lo, a blade for a knight's emprise Filled the fine empty sheath of a man-- The Duke grew straightway brave and wise.

He looked at her, as a lover can; She looked at him, as one who awakes: The past was a sleep, and her life began. 30

Now, love so ordered for both their sakes, A feast was held that selfsame night In the pile which the mighty shadow makes.

(For Via Larga is three-parts light, But the palace overshadows one, Because of a crime which may G.o.d requite!

To Florence and G.o.d the wrong was done, Through the first republic's murder there By Cosimo and his cursed son.)

The Duke (with the statue's face in the square) 40 Turned in the midst of his mult.i.tude At the bright approach of the bridal pair.

Face to face the lovers stood A single minute and no more, While the bridegroom bent as a man subdued--

Bowed till his bonnet brushed the floor-- For the Duke on the lady a kiss conferred, As the courtly custom was of yore.

In a minute can lovers exchange a word?

If a word did pa.s.s, which I do not think, 50 Only one out of the thousand heard.

That was the bridegroom. At day's brink He and his bride were alone at last In a bedchamber by a taper's blink.

Calmly he said that her lot was cast, That the door she had pa.s.sed was shut on her Till the final catafalk repa.s.sed.

The world meanwhile, its noise and stir, Through a certain window facing the East, She could watch like a convent's chronicler. 60

Since pa.s.sing the door might lead to a feast And a feast might lead to so much beside, He, of many evils, chose the least.

"Freely I choose too," said the bride-- "Your window and its world suffice,"

Replied the tongue, while the heart replied--

"If I spend the night with that devil twice, May his window serve as my loop of h.e.l.l Whence a d.a.m.ned soul looks on paradise!

"I fly to the Duke who loves me well, 70 Sit by his side and laugh at sorrow!

Ere I count another ave-bell,

"'Tis only the coat of a page to borrow, And tie my hair in a horse-boy's trim, And I save my soul--but not to-morrow"--

(She checked herself and her eye grew dim) "My father tarries to bless my state: I must keep it one day more for him.

"Is one day more so long to wait?

Moreover the Duke rides past, I know; 80 We shall see each other, sure as fate."

She turned on her side and slept. Just so!

So we resolve on a thing and sleep: So did the lady, ages ago.

That night the Duke said, "Dear or cheap As the cost of this cup of bliss may prove To body or soul, I will drain it deep."

And on the morrow, bold with love, He beckoned the bridegroom (close on call, As his duty bade, by the Duke's alcove) 90

And smiled, "'Twas a very funeral, Your lady will think, this feast of ours, A shame to efface, whate'er befall!

"What if we break from the Arno bowers, And try if Petraja, cool and green, Cure last night's fault with this morning's flowers?"

The bridegroom, not a thought to be seen On his steady brow and quiet mouth, Said, "Too much favour for me so mean!

"But, alas! my lady leaves the South; 100 Each wind that comes from the Apennine Is a menace to her tender youth:

"Nor a way exists, the wise opine, If she quits her palace twice this year, To avert the flower of life's decline."

Quoth the Duke, "A sage and a kindly fear.

Moreover Petraja is cold this spring: Be our feast to-night as usual here!"

And then to himself--"Which night shall bring Thy bride to her lover's embraces, fool-- 110 Or I am the fool, and thou art the king!

"Yet my pa.s.sion must wait a night, nor cool-- For to-night the Envoy arrives from France Whose heart I unlock with thyself my tool.

"I need thee still and might miss perchance.

To-day is not wholly lost, beside, With its hope of my lady's countenance:

"For I ride--what should I do but ride?

And pa.s.sing her palace, if I list, May glance at its window-well betide!" 120

So said, so done: nor the lady missed One ray that broke from the ardent brow, Nor a curl of the lips where the spirit kissed.

Be sure that each renewed the vow, No morrow's sun should arise and set And leave them then as it left them now.

But next day pa.s.sed, and next day yet, With still fresh cause to wait one day more Ere each leaped over the parapet.

And still, as love's brief morning wore, 130 With a gentle start, half smile, half sigh, They found love not as it seemed before.

They thought it would work infallibly, But not in despite of heaven and earth: The rose would blow when the storm pa.s.sed by.

Meantime they could profit in winter's dearth By store of fruits that supplant the rose: The world and its ways have a certain worth:

And to press a point while these oppose Were simple policy; better wait: 140 We lose no friends and we gain no foes.